My pulse jumped.
“From Claire?”
“I believe so.”
“Believe?”
“There was no return address.”
She rose and went to an old writing desk.
From a drawer she removed a plastic sleeve.
Inside was a Christmas card.
The front showed a snowy cottage.
Margaret placed it before me.
The message inside was short.
Maggie,
I’m alive. I’m well. Please don’t look for me. Tell Dad I’m sorry.
C.
“Did you tell my father?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He cried.”
I had rarely seen my father cry.
The image unsettled me.
“Did he try to find her?”
“He said respecting her wishes was the only thing he could still do for her.”
Stephen studied the card.
“Postmark?”
“Seattle.”
“Did Claire live there?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Margaret.
“Why did Dad hide her from me?”
“Because he thought ignorance protected you.”
“From what?”
Margaret shook her head.
“He wouldn’t say.”
